


The Chief's Facade.

by FeliciaAmelloides



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Angst, Character Development, Love/Hate, M/M, Madness, Mentioned Abusive Childhood, Mostly about Jack, Night, Not relationship focussed until near the end, Overthinking things, conflicting emotions, savagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 18:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14002335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeliciaAmelloides/pseuds/FeliciaAmelloides
Summary: Tomorrow the tribe will finally hunt the traitorous Ralph and end him once and for all.So why isn't their Chief excited about it?The untold tale of Jack Merridew's nighttime musings as he wonders where everything went wrong. And maybe he discovers some things about himself he didn't realise before along the way...





	The Chief's Facade.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like there aren't enough fics which focus on Jack, since people seem to prefer Ralph in that sense. So here's a Jack Merridew-focussed oneshot! It has a little bit of Jalph in there because I couldn't resist.

"So," Bitingly cold with an edge of malice, the Chief's voice cut through his tribe and demanded respect, "The traitor dared to show his face around us, hm?" A few vicious whispers were stirred up from the tribe members as they watched their Chief intently. The night had only just settled upon the island, bringing with it a pleasant coolness. Such things went unheeded by the tribe, rapt in their attention towards their Chief.

"They said he's hiding down there." The hangman spoke dutifully, a slender hand pointing to the mat of creepers far below Castle Rock, a clearing with blue flowers and a rock rolled long ago, just before the knife snapped the bond holding Ralph and Jack's tribes together. The Chief studied his hangman thoughtfully for a moment.

Roger's hair was a shock of darkness, low over the black, soulless pits he saw the world through and long on the nape of his neck. His skin, darkened further by the sun, only added to the shadowy appearance he had. If the Chief told the littluns in his tribe that Roger was one of the creatures who crawled from the darkness of the island at night into their tribe, they wouldn't have struggled to believe him. Hell, even the biguns would have believed him at that point.

The constant howls and screams of brutal agony echoing out from the small cave in which Roger held his prisoners were enough to convince them.

The silence of the tribe was what made the Chief realise his eyes had lingered for too long. Looking away quickly, he made his speech,

"He's making this hunt far too easy for us. Perhaps we should give chase for a while first," The tribe laughed as one, cackling against the moon in excitement for the thrill of the hunt, "We'll go there tomorrow." The Chief said, once more commanding them into silence with his voice and mask of paint which they could do nothing towards but obey. Only Roger looked on impassively, making no move to interject but not agreeing either. He too wanted Ralph's blood on his hands, but at the same time he didn't really want to share the kill with his Chief. Already he was planning excuses for when he accidentally killed the traitor first.

Maybe he could just kill Jack as well.

After dismissing his tribe and ensuring that Roger would be able to deal with their prisoners for the night, the Chief wandered to the edge of Castle Rock. He gazed out onto the island, finally losing the facade because he was alone and it didn't matter how he acted when he was alone.

Jack let himself think about Ralph, lying down in the creepers all alone. It was cold outside, and he probably hadn't eaten that day. Then again, he wouldn't be surprised if those traitorous twins had fed him before he slipped away.

Anger took hold of his bony form. His fists shook, and he resisted the urge to scream at the moon. He couldn't think about Ralph for long without this rage possessing him. But tomorrow? Tomorrow he would finally get his vengeance.

It felt good. 

A few seconds passed in cold, unbreakable solitude.

No. It didn't feel good.

The realisation hit Jack like a bullet, and he shivered convulsively. But, as much as he hated himself for admitting it, it was true. He didn't feel good about this at all. Images of three boys smiling and laughing on a golden beach in the brilliant light of the late afternoon sun flashed through his mind.

Despite his poor constitution and bad habit of fainting during key performances, Jack had never really had a problem with Simon. Unlike the other choirboys, he always listened to what was said and took notice of it, and he never once spoke out of turn. He was a kind boy, and always seemed to be almost overly apologetic whenever he ruined a performance by fainting. And as much as Jack had chastised him for it at the time, he'd never really been that mad.

Only now, with Simon's blood on his hands and his conscience tearing him apart, did Jack realise that if he could take it all back he would. 

And then there was Ralph. Blond, beautiful, insufferable Ralph. The one person Jack couldn't scare, and the one person he'd never been able to beat. Ralph always seemed to float above everything, ruling with all the ease and assertiveness of a king. And Jack hated him so much for that, because he was so, so...

No. He couldn't think like that. He wasn't anything. Ralph meant nothing to him. He was just a nuisance, and a traitor, and he deserved to die damnit!

Before Jack could stop himself, the familiar sting of tears pricked at his eyes. They were painful, lonely, broken tears, and he couldn't do anything to prevent them from falling hot and fast from his pale blue eyes. He looked up at the sky, holding back his sobs as the tears fell and fell. 

Why did everything have to become so complicated?

Three boys, smiling and laughing on a beach.

Now one was gone forever, and tomorrow the other would be the same.

Jack had lost his parents, his home, his country, his choir, his friends, and now he'd finally realised that he had also lost something else. 

Himself.

Insanity and warped rage pushed through his tears, telling him just how awful Ralph truly was. But he didn't really believe it. He couldn't. He was Chief now, and he had everything he wanted on the island. Everything but Ralph.

And here he was, ordering his tribe to take Ralph away forever. Just like Simon. Just like Piggy.

He'd hated Piggy too, hadn't he? Just as much as he hated Ralph, right?

But if he didn't really hate Ralph, and he actually thought that Piggy was pretty smart, and he was just insanely jealous of the both of them for being so much better than him at leading, surviving, existing...

No. No. _NO!_

A slap rang out in the darkness, filled with all the emotions Jack forced deep down inside himself, never to see the light of day.

Furiously rubbing at his eyes until they were red, raw and painful, Jack made himself focus on something else. On anything else.

A faint, fuzzy image of his parents came to mind. Of his Daddy who belted him every time he spoke and saw him as a weak, pathetic little boy who could never grow up to be a man. Of his Mummy who wasted all their money on the finest silverware and had tea parties with respectable women and spent the nights Daddy was away holed up in her bedroom with some strange man Jack didn't know, screaming and screaming. She'd wake up in the morning with bruises on her neck, but she always skirted around it if Jack said anything.

He remembered his house too. The grand Merridew estate, famous in their county for being one of the finest houses in the country. He had spent many hours roaming the halls as a young child, back when Mummy remembered his name and Daddy read him bedtime stories with a warm smile so unfamiliar to him now. But here, on this island so far away from the war and his old life on that estate, he couldn't remember a single detail of a single room. Not even his own.

Ralph's face came to mind again. That smile, the understanding in his eyes, the respect, the awe, the pity. That pity which he hated so much. Ralph was someone who could never truly understand him. That was almost the reason why he hated him.

He almost slapped himself again when he realised that once more his thoughts were on Ralph's hair and Ralph's eyes and Ralph's _smile_.

Against his better judgment, Jack decided that the only way to convince himself of his hatred towards his former leader was to go and see him. He'd only take one small look. That was all. Then he'd come back here and pretend he hadn't even left.

If anyone took notice, he'd just say that he was making sure the prisoners weren't trying to fool them. Scouting out the area for strategic points. Finding Ralph's weaknesses so the hunt would be more fun tomorrow. Anything but his true intentions.

When Jack reached the tribe of sleeping savages, he became the Chief and walked through the group of hunters with all the assertiveness and cold superiority of a true chieftain. He had learnt over time to walk almost silently. It was now second nature to him, and he took advantage of that that night.

It worked, and he was out of the main area of hunters and down the cracked, weed-strewn path into the main jungle. At this point, he stopped being Chief and went back to being Jack Merridew. When he reached the jungle and stepped through into a place where the moonlight bathed, her silvery light casting grey shadows out of her sight and into trees, he stopped being Jack Merridew and became just Jack. Twelve years old, chapter chorister and head boy. He didn't know what those things meant anymore. 

He was Jack. That was all he knew.

Jack made sure that his steps were careful, avoiding the patches of jungle with the most sticks and leaves. He didn't want to alert his prey to his arrival. But Ralph didn't feel like prey in this moment, instead seeming (just seeming) more like an old friend he'd become estranged from over the months they'd known each other.

Finally he came to the clearing. His emotions spread on his face and a crown of silver painted onto his fiery curls by the moon he hid from so easily, Jack walked through a sea of memories and distant, forbidden thoughts to get to the object of his mind's dishevelment.

There he was. Whilst the moon gave Jack a crown, she gave Ralph a halo, lighting him up in a beautiful, holy glow that he did not deserve. Ralph was a beautiful angel in the night, face twisted into a worried frown even as he slept, his eyes scrunched up and body writhing. Jack drew closer despite his voice of reason screaming at him to leave, captivated by this strange sight.

Only when he was a few inches away from Ralph did he stop, fearful to wake him from his restless slumber. A faint desire came to mind to kill him right there. It would be so easy. He wouldn't even feel anything.

The threat of tears came on again as soon as Jack realised that he wasn't going to be able to do it. That they'd been through so much together that he couldn't kill Ralph.

It was probably just the moonlight playing tricks on him, making him feel these strange things towards the other boy. _He hated him._ His mind kept telling him that over and over in an endless mantra, like a dying pig's repeated screams.

Hate and something akin to the spark which brought the two leaders together on the very first day (too strange and far away now) warred in Jack's mind, telling him two different things and _what was he supposed to think_?

It hurt. He hurt. And so did Ralph, he assumed, so covered in scars and freshly opened cuts as he was. 

He couldn't help it really. He was too in the moment, too out of it to realise what he was doing. So you had to excuse Jack for what he ended up doing. He wasn't on the right state of mind.

When he reached down slowly, silently, and pressed a hand with the lightest of touches into Ralph's golden halo, it wasn't because he _liked_ him. No. Of course not. He hated him.

His hair was so soft. Jack felt as if everything he'd believed for so long had just been wrenched from his grasp and burned. This was so _wrong_ , yet he couldn't bring himself to stop. Stroking Ralph's hair like this. It would be frowned upon. His tribe would murder him for it. His parents would _kill_ him. Weren't those the same? He didn't know anymore. Nothing was the same anymore.

Heart throbbing in his chest, a warmth infiltrated Jack's body, starting from there and expanding outwards. For some reason unknown to him, that warmth was warmer than the fire had ever been, yet at the same time it was twice as painful.

Then reality sank in, and he discovered himself sitting there like an idiot trying to be friends with his enemy. The warmth in his chest turned to the bitter chill of hatred, and he drew his hand back as though he had been burned.

The Beast must have been playing tricks of him. _Of course._. And how stupid he must have been to fall for them so easily!

Ignoring the third sting in his eyes of the night, the Chief rose from his place in the thinning grass and strode away from The Beast into the darkness of the night.

Tomorrow, they would finally kill the object of his hatred and all would be well on the island. He just needed to ignore the siren song of The Beast until then.

And that included ignoring the continuous fast rate of his heart and the horrible gnawing sensation at the back of his mind which told him that he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack is by far the most interesting character in Lord of the Flies. He's clearly a very troubled child, with a lot of insecurity and the apparent need to come across as cold, aloof and powerful. He expresses a lot of complex emotions throughout Lord of the Flies, and his lack of self-control, jealousy of Ralph's leadership and Piggy's intelligence and loss of sanity over the course of the book really illustrates what can happen when you put an insecure, probably neglected and insanely jealous boy together with no boundaries to keep him in his place.
> 
> Of course, Jack isn't perfectly justified. He could easily be a borderline sociopath, and his bloodlust, violence and controlling personality are hardly redeemable qualities. But somehow I get the feeling that there's a reason for a least some of his traits, and that that reason is most likely the way his parents raised him.
> 
> But that's just a theory. A Book-
> 
> No.


End file.
